


you eat the flowers (of my heart)

by orphan_account



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Horror, Bodily Manifestations of Sadness, Body Horror, Gen, Japanese Mythology - Freeform, NaNoWriMo, Other, Tokyo Setting, Unhealthy Headspace, Various Urban Legends and Ghost Stories, Worldbuilding, Youkai, but their relationship is not the main focus of this story, it is heavily implied that Natsume and Tanuma are in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 14:16:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21283082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “He very nearly laughs when, one morning, his body disappears, becoming scattered teardrops.”Natsume moves to Tokyo for work. He does not handle the move well.
Kudos: 9





	you eat the flowers (of my heart)

He tallies up the mounting differences between Tokyo and Hitoyoshi City in his head, checking them off every couple of hours.

None of the shopkeepers greet him by name. None of the bicyclists on the sidestreets apologise for bumping into him. None of the old men carting their wares in the shopping plazas fondly brush him off as a wayward loner; instead they curse at him, at his befuddled, startled hand gestures, at his rushed apologies. They head off in self-absorbed huffs whilst Natsume, shaken, considers the tantalising prospect of never leaving his rented closet again.

But then he remembers that this upending of his life is temporary.

Sustaining himself and Tanuma on their earnings from the temple, supplied by donations from their devoted visitors, was all well and good for about two weeks.

One evening, soon after Tanuma had retired from himself and Touko’s table to wash up their meal, Touko had pulled Natsume close by the shoulder, saying, “You really think he’s content with spending the rest of his days sleeping on hard earth, Takashi?”

So, then, to Tokyo.

He remembers fathers who left home for work and never came back, forever writing letters and sending money and heartless promises to attend high school graduations. He remembers their wives talking him through their sorrows, his cowardice preventing him from stopping them on behalf of his heart. He wonders if those fathers are with him now, somewhere in this soul-sucking city.

He tries to text Tanuma every day. They had concluded several months prior that they both hated their phones, hated the notion of checking them, of orienting your life around ambiguous correspondence. And yet, Natsume remembers with a horrid, gaping pang, that was when they spent every waking moment in one another’s company, when they had the luxury of forgetting about their technological counterparts.

Day by day, Natsume evolves into a person he hates, endlessly scrolling through his and Tanuma’s text log in favour of heating up dinner, waiting for Tanuma’s brief missive. He’ll usually fall asleep with his phone in his lap, only to wake up some hours later with nothing to show for his sorrow, inhuman sounds issuing from his stomach.

He very nearly laughs when, one morning, his body vanishes, becoming scattered teardrops. 

The following evening, someone knocks on his closet door, softly. Of course, Natsume doesn’t answer. He is indisposed; he is a creature of grief-stricken habit. A manifestation of useless sadness.

“Foolish Natsume!” Nyanko-sensei chides him, edging the door open with his left paw.

Sighing, Natsume says, “How in god’s name did you find me?” 

His voice, hoarse with disuse, startles him, his liquefied form shuddering on the carpet. 

“I flew over your train the day you left. Didn’t stop trailing you till you reached this sad place. If this was all you could afford, you may as well have stayed behind, where you’re  _ needed _ . This isn’t much different from homelessness.”

“Oh, quiet, you.”

Nyanko-sensei sniffs, then goes back to bathing himself. 

Natsume had, indeed, shown up to his job once. Everyone already knew each other and knew what was expected of them. They didn’t have time to train Natsume in the coveted art of refurbishing dilapidated tents left by the homeless citizens of Tokyo, not that that was possible to begin with. You taught yourself, and very quickly, Natsume realised he possessed the kindest of hearts, but lacked the endurance, stamina, and upper body strength needed to ensure his staying power.

They hadn’t even missed him enough to leave him a “Do not return to work” message.

Well, even if they want him back, there’s no way he’ll make it now, not in  _this _ condition.

“What would Tanuma think of me?” 

The way his voice warbles makes him want to shudder. _Ugh_! If he keeps this up, he might get absorbed into the carpet.

“There you go again, feeling sorry for yourself.” Nyanko-sensei shakes his head in that aloof, dismissive way that only a cat can. 

“Well, what else would you recommend me do?”  


_ How times have changed! Wasn’t Nyanko-sensei fond of dredging up his past woes? Since when have I been so insufferable? _

“First item on the agenda is coming back home.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project (including the LLF Comment Builder), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:  
Short comments  
Long comments  
Questions  
“<3” as extra kudos  
Reader-reader interaction  
This author replies to comments.


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